


Justice In My Dreams

by MizJoely



Series: Mytheamore [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, mythea, with a dash of sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: One more ficlet for the "give me a title and a pairing" flash fic challenge I ran on tumblr. Anthea muses on her relationship with Mycroft after she and Molly Hooper are abducted and rescued.





	Justice In My Dreams

If there was any justice in the world - and not just in her dreams - Mycroft Holmes would have done more than just shake her hand and tell her he was glad she was safe when he and Sherlock arrived to rescue her and Molly Hooper from their kidnappers.

Molly, Anthea noted enviously, got the greeting both women wanted from the men they loved: Sherlock swooped in, took her in his arms, and kissed her senseless after he'd ascertained that she was unharmed.

No such luck for the Iceman's PA.

Anthea's gloomy thoughts were, naturally, not translated to her exterior: she remained cool, unruffled, seemingly disinterested in everything going on around her, tapping away at her newly-restored blackberry while MI-5 agents busied themselves with the remnants of the terror cell that had abducted her and Molly from the St. Bart's morgue. She'd been there to drop off a file for Mycroft - of course! - and in spite of her training had been unable to subdue the six abductors when they stormed into the room. Molly had acquitted herself very well, swinging her bone saw like a champion, even if she'd never actually connected with any of the attackers. Likely because she still wasn't quite ready to kill someone even with her own life threatened.

Sherlock, of course, had already lectured her on her so-called squeamishness. In fact, he'd not let go of her since he, Mycroft, John Watson and the twelve agents had burst into the terrorist's hideout two hours ago. Not even when the medical team was checking her over.

Mycroft hadn't even looked her way when her own bruises and cuts were examined and cleansed. That stung more than the antiseptic wipes.

"Sir, I'll have a full report for you by tomorrow morning," she said as she finally broke the silence between them. She'd waited until most of the activity had died down, Sherlock sweeping Molly away with him, John Watson tagging along in their footsteps - and smirking as if he'd been the one to matchmake them into that epic snog. She knew the many texts he'd been furtively sending had been to his wife, still not quite ready for an extraction mission, not so soon after having given birth to Rosie.

"Excellent," was all Mycroft responded.

Anthea gave an inward sigh at his cool response. What else had she expected? "So I'll be heading home, then," she said, starting to move away from him, head back down to her blackberry, her only defense against his indifference…then gasped as his hand shot out and closed around her wrist. "Sir?"

The expression on his face remained cold, but she could feel the slight tremble in his hand. "Stay," he said softly. "Let me see you safely home. Please."

He turned his head, just the slightest bit, and she felt her calm shell begin to crumble at the expression in his eyes.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and stood quietly by his side. When he slid his hand down to hers, she intertwined their fingers without needing further prompting.

The Iceman, it seemed, had finally melted.


End file.
